


The Seer

by orangetrees



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: 1975, Deacury, Fairies, I'll add more tags as i go, M/M, Magic AU, Maylor - Freeform, Ridge Farm, Urban Fantasy, because they're british, fae, magical powers, they drink Too Much Fucking Tea
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:22:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25051624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangetrees/pseuds/orangetrees
Summary: more than hidden feelings are stirred up this summer. how will they handle finding out there is a whole other world right under their noses? and that it's not so alien after all?set in 1975, mostly at ridge farmmultiple POVs and a few flashbacks
Relationships: Brian May/Roger Taylor, John Deacon/Freddie Mercury
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	1. Gettin' Ready Rag

**Author's Note:**

> John's POV

At half past eleven I get the strange feeling the phone is going to ring, I put yet another pack of spare strings down and go out into the hallway. As soon as I am there it does, strangely enough, but I don’t have much time to dwell on it.  
-Hello?  
-John! How have you been? It’s Roger.   
-Haven’t heard from you since Thursday!  
Thursday was yesterday. I don’t mention it.  
-Eh good, good. You?  
-Great, thanks! Me ‘n Fred were wondering if you and Bri wanted to come over before we go to Rockfield, for a sleepover sort of thing?  
-Oh, that’d be nice, yes.  
-Great! I’ll come and pick you up at six, then?  
-Sounds good, I’ve still got some packing to do.  
-Alright, see you then, John!  
-Alright, bye! 

I finish packing in less than an hour and then go into the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea. Rifling through my tea shelf, my eyes catch on that one tin, decorated with the colourful scenes of a venetian carnival. Is it a special enough occasion? We’re leaving to record our fourth album tomorrow, of course it’s a cause for celebration. I pick up the tin and hold it with great care in both my hands, the way Freddie had presented it to me. 

-Ten minutes, Roger muttered.   
Just then Freddie threw the door open with a flourish.  
-Sorry I’m late, dears, but I had to run an errand.  
He rummaged around his bag for a short while before he fished up a package wrapped in tissue paper. He handed it to me.  
-Here you are darling, it’s the same tea we had last month, and since you liked it I thought I’d pop by and buy you some.  
-Thank you! The tea was wonderful, yes.   
Roger cleared his throat.  
-Fred, give yourself some credit, mate.  
He turned to me.  
-By ‘decided to pop by’ he means he found out the bloody serial number of that tea, then called every day for two weeks pestering the lady who works at the tea shop to get it in stock, just so he could buy it for you.   
Freddie was looking at the ground, blushing furiously and smiling in embarrassment. Then I surprised even myself by throwing my arms around an even more surprised Freddie in a tight hug.  
-Thank you so much, I said quietly.   
Freddie hugged back, tightly.  
-You’re welcome, darling.

Sipping my tea I wonder, not for the first time, what things will be like when we get to Ridge farm. Then my thoughts slip somewhere else entirely as I picture what it would be like if, while there, I’d muster up the courage to tell Freddie how I felt. Maybe he’d be flattered. Or maybe he would just nod and be respectful about it. Or maybe, just maybe, he would bow his head as he did when he smiled, and tell me, in his soft way, that he felt the same way. Maybe we would kiss then. I would bet his lips tasted as sweet as the tea he’d bought me. I sigh wistfully. I’d been loving him for years now. Maybe, if I tried really hard, I could pinpoint the moment I knew for sure I was in love with him. 

Three of us, painfully aware we were supposed to be four, were pacing anxiously around the living room. I think we all felt like trapped birds that day. Waiting, waiting, as our fate was decided so close but so far away. The words hung in the air like suffocating dust. We could lose him. We could lose him, and none of us would ever be whole again. And worst, there was nothing we could do. Freddie put down the glass he’d been twisting in his hands.  
-I’m going, he said.  
-Where? Roger said .  
-Why? I said, though we knew both answers.  
-Because he needs someone, damnit! I know we can’t do shit, but we can be there, can’t we?  
-But the doctors said-  
-I don’t care!   
There were tears threatening to spill from his eyes. He quickly wiped them away with the back of his hand. He sighed and with that sigh the fire in him seemed to die down all at once.  
-I would do anything for him. He’s my brother. We can’t just leave him, he said quietly, fiercely.   
And so we went.

I think about that moment quite often. How much love my Freddie has always had in his heart. How much our found family means to all of us. I put my empty cup in the sink and get back to packing.

As promised Roger picks me up. The car ride to their flat is coloured with almost palpable excitement. Our words mimic the fast paced rhythms of his drums and my bass. Being the sonic volcano has never been limited to just music, and this is proof. When we arrive he helped me carry my things upstairs.

At first the other two don’t notice us, too caught up in whatever story Freddie is telling. Half the story, from what I can tell, is about some customer they had had at the market stall. I’m not sure exactly what had happened, but it was, in Freddie’s words, “simply outrageous, dear!”, but that’s not the half of it I’m listening to. It’s the story, because believe me it’s a whole novel’s worth of words, that he tells with his hands, demonstrating something round, or maybe something flying, and his eyebrows, raising up high under his fringe to emphasize something, furrowing and then un-furrowing. I could watch him like this forever, squeezed into the windowsill with Brian. Happy. Then Roger calls out for our friends and they both turn.  
-Goodness that was too fast! What did you forget? Freddie quips.  
-Just the common sense to stop being friends with you, I say.  
Freddie shakes his head and tutts.  
-When ever did you get so mean? No matter, we’re ordering takeaway! What would you like?

At dinner we sit on the floor of their living room, as is the strange custom when there’s takeaway. My leg has gone numb after a while shoved under the coffee table, but I barely notice. Roger hands Freddie some of his lamb stew across the table, nearly knocking one of the boxes off. Brian catches it with an exasperated sigh. Freddie, not seeming to care or notice, chews the lamb thoughtfully. After a moment he says;  
-It’s good, but my mum makes it better.   
The evening continues with our usual banter and well meaning jabs, then Brian finishes his beer and hands the bottle to Roger with a knowing smirk. Roger grins back and stands up, holding the empty bottle like the statue of liberty. I groan.  
-Truth or dare! he exclaims.  
-With a bottle? Freddie asks.  
-Yeah, we’ll spin it.  
Freddie shrugs.  
-Alright, I’m in. John?   
He turns to me with that expectant smile. I don’t have a choice, do I?  
-Alright, I say.  
We clear the things from dinner so we can all sit around where Roger eagerly spins the bottle. It lands on Brian.  
-Bri, truth or dare?  
-Truth, I don’t trust your dares.  
-Ouch. Fair though. Er... would you blow someone for a hundred quid?  
-Depends who it is I’m… Brian trails off, looking down at his hands, not daring to finish the sentence.   
Roger laughs a little at his awkwardness. Brian’s cheeks are dusted with a faint pink and he is decidedly not looking at Roger. Maybe it’s just me, but it’s painfully obvious who he’s thinking of. I look over at Roger again. Does he know Brian would do anything for him? Does Freddie see it too?   
Brian spins the bottle.  
-Okay, Fred. Truth or dare?  
-Hmm, truth. He leans forward a bit, listening in that way of his.  
It always makes you feel special.  
-Alright, if you could go anywhere right now, where would you rather be?  
-RIght here, with you.   
Nobody says anything but the room softens and grows warm, crackling like silent fireworks in the corners. The bottle is sent spinning before I can blink, but the feeling lingers.  
-Roger!  
-Truth.  
-What’s your favourite thing about yourself?  
-About myself? Looks? No, I don’t know.   
He pauses, probably realising this is one of those vulnerable moments where he can say anything he feels like.  
-I think my best feature is my dedication to what I believe in.   
Another pause.  
-And that I’m a bad bitch.   
I snort quietly and he spins again.  
-John, truth or dare.  
-I’m sticking with truth.   
I feel like whatever he says will hit too close to home, but I’m not in the mood for standing up.  
-When was the first time you were properly in love? Yep. Too close.  
-Like, crushes don’t count- sort of in love?  
-Yeah.   
The crackling of fireworks has moved into my heart. Will they know? Will they know it’s him? And that I still love him?  
-Like, three years ago, I think? Is that late?  
-No, not at all, darling. I think that’s about when I fell in love for the first time, too.  
And with that the conversation completely deviated from truth and dare, spiralling into our thoughts on romance and then slowly, as Brian brought out the whisky, into drunken existentialism.  
-But really, haven’t you had those dreams where everything feels… real? Just as real as it does now? Brian says.   
Freddie looks bewildered.  
-So what you’re saying is-  
-How do you know this is all real? Brian continues.  
-I can touch you, yeah?  
Freddie firmly puts his hands on Brian’s shoulders.  
-If it was just my brain making you all up from scratch I wouldn't be able to touch you, right?   
A little uncertainty creeps into his voice.   
-Right?  
-You’ve never had a dream where y’ can feel stuff? Roger says.  
-No? Have you? Freddie says.  
-Yeah, had one where m’ mum stabbed me with a dead fish, an’ it hurt a lot an’ then I woke up crying.  
-Aww, Roggie, I say, trying to put my head on his shoulder in a sort of comforting way, miscalculating my force, and accidentally knocking us both to the floor.  
-Ow.  
-Sorry, I say.  
Freddie giggles from where he’s lying right across Brian’s lap.  
-You two are so funny when you’re drunk.  
-What d’you mean?  
-Listen to yourself! Your accent just goes… woosh!   
He mimes something expanding with his hands, knocking Brian in the chin. Freddie’s eyes go wide.  
-Oh, darling! Oh dear I’m so, so sorry. Do you forgive me?  
He’s sat up, gently petting Brian’s cheek with his hand.  
-It’s fine, Brian smiles.  
-Besides, Freddie says, still caught on the previous subject, if it was just my brain messing with me and none of this existed, then I'd be happy I’d made you three.  
We all smile. Nothing else is needed now. I don’t say it, but I think Freddie hears it anyway. How ever could the earth go on spinning without your light?. He smiles.  
-What time is it? I say, looking at the others.   
Brian turns his wrist over, despite Freddie laying on most of his arm.  
-Half past twelve almost. We should go to bed, we’re leaving at eight tomorrow.

We don’t bother with doing the dishes, as there’s not much to do anyway. Instead we just get ready for bed and in wordless agreement all pile into Roger’s bed. It’s not very comfortable in the typical sense; someone’s knee is jabbing me in the hip and whoever I’m resting my head on, Freddie, probably, judging by the scent of recently straightened hair and lilies, has insanely bony shoulders. But in another sense, I could stay like this forever. Their quiet breaths mingle with mine and we press ourselves so close we’re touching everywhere. I feel calm and warm. Protecting and protected. Right here. Right- Something flashes before my eyes, making me dizzy. It passes before I can make sense of it, but it’s not a good thing. And I can feel it coming. Not soon, but it’s coming, I know it’s coming.  
-Darling are you alright?  
I hadn’t noticed I was crying until he tilts my head up, wiping the wetness from my cheeks with his thumb. Though it’s coming I know I can prevent it, whatever it is. I nod.  
-I don’t know why that happened. Sorry, I whisper.  
I’m slightly embarrassed, to be honest.  
-Don’t be, he whispers back, laying us back down.   
I wrap my arms around him and promise silently that I will never, ever let anything bad happen to him.


	2. Troubles Will Slide Away, Just A Ride Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Freddie's POV

I wake up with my mouth full of hair, which is gross, until I open my eyes and see who’s hair it is, at which point it’s still gross but now also deeply confusing. I hardly dare to move as I remove the hair from my mouth and take in John’s sleeping face, almost buried in my collarbone. Even in sleep he looks slightly annoyed, mouth pointed downwards and tightly set, eyebrows turned down in the middle. I would describe his resting face as strict, though I would never tell him, I don’t think he would take it as a compliment. I would also describe it as painfully adorable. His hand rests on my chest ever so lightly and his leg is slung over both of mine. I never want to leave him. I can hear Brian and Roger, too, breathing softly on either side of us. When I move away to check the clock on Roger’s nightstand, John clings to me and pulls me closer. My heart swells, even though he probably doesn’t know it’s me. I make another attempt at checking the clock, this time successful. Half past six. I turn around to face Brian, smoothing the hair from his face. He hums, blinking open his eyes.  
-Good morning, he whispers.  
-Good morning, darling. Slept well?  
-Mhm. Had a really weird dream, I’ll tell you at breakfast.   
He stretches his arms above his head as he sits up. Throwing his legs over the side of the bed as he puts on the clothes he’d prepared in a neat pile on the floor. I notice with some amusement that despite his excellent planning, an anti-morning person as he is, he has accidentally picked out one of Roger’s shirts. It hit him a little bit above the waist and is patterned with tiger print along the edges. I don’t mention it, instead turning to shake Roger’s shoulder, careful not to wake John in the process. I tell myself I wake them in the order I do because John has least to pack, as Roger had just packed half of what he needs, and Brian unpacked most of his things in search of a comb the day before, but really, I just want a quiet moment alone with John.. Roger sits up and gives me a tired nod, before dragging his legs out to join Brian in the kitchen. At last I turn to John. The slight loss of contact prompts him to pull me impossibly closer, his warm chest to mine. I would want to fall back asleep here in his arms. I’m content, happy and so madly in love with him. His long hair falls in his eyes and I gently brush it away. He’s always been uncharacteristically cuddly in his sleep.The first time we went on tour all four of us we were piss poor, to put it simply. We had to ration our food, sleep in the car on a few instances and share our beds. It was decided very quickly John and I were sharing a bed, since he was most comfortable with me out of the three of us. Though comfortable was a bit of a stretch.

The first night with a proper, though very cheap, hotel. We had found a room with two single beds and no breakfast, and we were positively delighted. Though, after the gig, when we returned to the hotel, things got very awkward very fast.  
-I’ll just… uh… sleep on the floor, I think. There’s just space for one… y’know? John said.  
-No no, if you don’t want to share, I can do that.  
-No, it’s just… don’t want to crowd you  
-Nonsense, dear, you won’t.  
To be honest, I wasn’t exactly thrilled to share a bed with a guy I just knew on a surface level, but I wasn’t going to make him feel like he was making me uncomfortable. Finally, after nearly five minutes of very stiff back and forth discussion, we settled on just doing as we planned. For the first few minutes I very much regretted everything. Neither of us were close to sleep and there was clear tension in the air. He was sitting as close to the edge as he could, back straight and hands clasped tightly. His grey green eyes were focused on the wall in front of him. I sighed and laid down with my back towards him.  
-Goodnight, John.  
-Goodnight.  
After a while, he laid down too, and soon enough, he seemed to fall asleep. I listened to his soft breathing for a while before I, too, fell asleep.   
I woke up in the middle of the night. I didn’t think much of it, and just tried to fall back asleep, until I noticed how warm it was. It made sense, we were two people under one very season-inappropriate comforter, but that wasn’t quite it. And then I noticed. During the night, our new bassist had somehow wrapped his arms around my waist and was now holding me very close. He was strong, I thought, and it was very cozy to just lie in his arms like this and- oh no. I had always been good at developing crushes, and this sure as hell was one. Thankfully, though, it seemed to be just a small one, and it would go over eventually. In the meantime, however, I could just enjoy the feeling of his soft cheek on the back of my neck, the fluttering of my heart. And that night, like so many others to come, I fell asleep thinking about John.

He stirs now. Looks up at me tiredly, then fondly.  
-Good morning, he says.  
-Good morning, dear. Slept well?  
-Mm, sort of. Got this massive headache.  
-Hungover, you think?  
-Dunno, didn’t drink that much.  
-Hm.   
I smooth down his hair, hoping to give some sort of relief. He blinks suddenly and looks up at me again, eyes wide open. Shock is written all over his face.  
-What… did you just do? He says slowly.  
-Hm?  
-It’s gone!  
I have no idea what has just happened, so all I can manage to say is;  
\- That’s strange. A pause. How about we get some breakfast?   
He jawns and nods, stretching his back and sighing.  
-Yeah, sounds good, I s’pose.

Brian passes me the tea and suddenly I remember he had a dream.  
-You told me you had a dream. What was it? Thank you, I add under my breath.   
I start pouring tea in my cup, but it’s already full. I could swear I hadn’t seen any of the others fill it. Weird.  
-Oh right! So there was this prophet, and the mood was sort of- not hostile, and not quite scary but sort of-  
-Spooky? Roger tries.  
-Yeah that’s it. He was standing far up above a sea of people, and we were all looking up at him. The sky was all dark, there might have been lightning, I don’t know. He kept going on and on about these… horrible things that were going to happen.  
John looks momentarily spooked and then shakes his head and continues eating.  
-It was really interesting, Brian continues, I might write something from it. I’ve got the chord progression down, i think.  
-Cool, Roger says.  
-Oh, that sounds nice, I say.  
-Yeah, go for it.

Eight o’clock sharp we all pile into the van. Since we have more stuff than usual, the Red gets her own seat. In the back, with John and Roger on either side. Seatbelt and all.  
-Hey, since she can apparently sit like a person, why can’t the fireplace drive? Roger says.  
-Yeah, why not? I agree. Brian turns in his seat to look Roger in the eye.  
-Roger, If I wasn’t driving, I promise I would rather have her drive than you.  
-I’m right here, John says.  
-Noted. Guitar’s still driving. Brian turns back to have his eyes on the road.  
-I’m literally never going to do the dishes at the farm, John says.  
-Ooh throwing in the big threats, darling? I say.  
-Now look who’s talking. Roger raises his eyebrows.  
-Hm?  
-”I will never name one of my cats after you”. What's that even supposed to be? An anti-threat? Honestly I was sort of relieved.  
-And then you put white and blue in the same wash just to be sure about the cat thing? I ask, smug.  
-Correct, Roger says.  
-And now your boxers are all blue?  
-...Also correct. He says it without any trace of shame. I stick my tounge out at him.  
-Can you you imagine how weird that would be, though? I mean having a cat named after you?   
Roger changes the subject back.  
-Yeah okay, that would be pretty fucked, Brian agrees.  
-Like, you go over to Freddie’s mansion- Roger begins.  
-Mansion? I ask.  
-Yeah, we’ll be rich, remember?  
-Right, yeah. Continue?  
-So you go over there and you see the cat.   
-You mean you see the cats, John says.   
Bastard knows what I’m thinking.  
-Imagine how many cats can fit in a mansion, though! Now it’s my turn to change the topic. And we would, as you said, be rich, so I can pay people to take care of them and-   
-Right, Roger interrupts, anyway, you would have to look this animal in the eyes, and you would have to know you share a name.  
-With the cat, Brian says.  
-With the cat, Roger agrees.  
-Freddie you need to up your threats, John sighs up from the back.  
-Fine, if you say one more mean thing today I’m quitting the band.  
-Unrealistic.  
-I won’t make dinner.  
-You wouldn’t regardless.  
-I’ll steal all your pillows.  
-Yeah okay, that one’s fine.   
He waves his hand in mock defeat.

By the time we arrive at the farmhouse, it’s almost lunchtime, so we leave all our things in the middle of the living room after a brief tour of the house. It’s rather big, but the best part is the outside. While the inside is pseudo modern with a strange mix of rather lovely antiques, and brown, orange and green… well, everything, the outside seems to have been kept the way it was when the house was built. Except for the pool and tennis court, of course. While we cook, or rather while Brian and John cook, we talk about maybe playing tennis after lunch. Roger instantly yanks Brian to him by the arm.  
-I’m on Bri’s team, he has long arms, so we’ll win.  
-Jesus, Rog, I have a knife, Brian scolds.  
-Yeah, well now you two can’t change teams, since it seems you forgot Freddie is literally the best out of all of us, John shrugs.  
-Fuck, Brian says, eloquently.  
-Allright, those are the teams, then, I say.

As soon as we’ve eaten, we rush out to play. The midsummer sun beats down on us like melted wax. As soon as the photographers leave and thank us, Brian takes his shirt of.  
-Good lord it’s hot!  
Roger takes one glance at his pale chest, then quickly looks away. His cheeks are decidedly pinker than before. Poor bastard. We continue with our game until John, who’s been playing flawlessly so far, smacks the ball right over the fence. It goes far, farther than I knew he could ever hit it. He looks even more bewildered than I feel.  
-Why the fuck did I do that? he whispers to himself, knitting his eyebrows together.  
-Don’t worry, darling, I’ll get it.

It takes me a while to find it. I keep looking close to the fence, but it’s soon obvious the ball has flown all the way into the nearby fields. And there it is, lying beneath the corn stalks, obnoxiously bright green. It’s only when I crouch down to retrieve it that I see what it’s resting on. An envelope. I brush of the dry grass and dirt to read what’s written on it. No post stamp. No address. Just two pressed flowers and in bold, wine red cursive, Freddie Bulsara. I turn it over. Nothing but a wax seal. The letter feels like a small frog in my hands, ready to leap at any moment, beating with life. It’s almost slippery to the touch. I think it might be my own heartbeat I’m feeling. It feels like I’m committing a crime as I fold it over and slip it into my breast pocket. The corn whispers in the wind as I rush back to the others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope it doesn't suck as much this time around and hope y'all like the musical themed titles (both this chapter's title and the last are from Ragtime. it's a good musical, highly recommend it).  
> thanks for reading!! :)


	3. We Put Down In Writing What Is Happening In Our Minds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John's POV

The first breakfast we eat at the fam is… sparse, to be generous. Well, it’s tea. Without milk.  
-Who was even supposed to buy milk? Roger says.  
-To be frank with you, dear, I don’t think anyone was.  
-Right, so someone has to go buy… let’s see, milk, eggs, bread, biscuits, cheese… basically everything. Rog, wanna come? I might need some help, Brian says.  
-Yeah, sure. We’ll be back pretty soon, right?  
-Think so. And you two will be alright?  
-Do you have so little faith in us? You’ll be gone for like an hour! Freddie laughs.  
-Alright then, let’s go!

When Brian and Roger leave, I sit down in the kitchen with a notepad I found, two pages of hastily scrawled sheet music, and my second cup of tea. The heat is even worse today, sticking to my skin like honey and telling me a thunderstorm is coming soon. The words on the page aren’t quite right, they blow around in my head, forming nothing of use. No, I decide, standing up, I need my bass or at least a piano for this. I grab my tea and half finished music and head for the barn. Thunder rolls in the distance and I walk a little faster. On the surface, I’m just going out to retrieve my bass, to actually write something worth sharing. Really though, I just want to sit by Freddie’s side. I know he’s at the piano and it’s him I’m writing for, anyway. Why not have my muse with me?

Even before I reach the barn I can hear the bright notes of the piano. I stop outside the open door, not really listening, but not in the mood to interrupt him. I’m not paying much attention, eyes focused on the horizon where dark blue clouds are looming. Then he sings, and his voice fills my chest. It’s barely even words in the beginning, he’s working out the melody, humming, painting the air with broad strokes of blue and green. But the words. I think I know them, they’re on the tip of my tongue as soon as he sings them. It feels like he’s written the song from my memories.

Seaside  
Whenever you stroll along with me  
I’m merely contemplating what you feel inside  
Meanwhile  
I ask you to be my clementine  
You say you will if you could but you can’t  
I love you madly  
Let my imagination run away with you gladly

My throat is dry, every breath I take feels heavy. Is this about what I think it is? Does he…? Is he saying what I think he’s saying? He continues singing but I hear it only distantly. Seaside rendezvous. The first drop of rain hits me like a wet kiss on the top of my head, and within seconds I’m soaked through. I run, bowed over my papers, back to the house. Water drips from my clothes, from my fringe, from everything. I put new water in the kettle and empty the rain water from my teacup, then take off my soaked through shirt and sit down on the counter. That song. Could he have written it about that time? He couldn’t, could he? It must’ve only been special to me. But-

-John! We’re going to Bournemouth! Fredde called out. I looked up at him in confusion.  
-Why?  
-To celebrate our first album, of course!  
-Oh, I said, like a band thing? My voice was sort of croaky. I cleared my throat.  
-Nope, he said, just us two.   
I was more and more confused.  
-But I don’t have a car, and you can’t drive, and there’s no way we can afford train tickets and-  
-Oh don’t worry about it, dear, I’ve saved up enough.  
Apparently he had, and so we went. It was only a weekend, but with Freddie, there was never a limit to how much fun you could have. Almost as soon as we got there, we went down to the beach. Neither of us were usually big fans of swimming, but the July heat was almost too much to bear on land, even though the sky was grey and threatening rain. We both threw ourselves into the water as soon as it was waist deep. We swam far out to float on our backs, and when we got bored of that we splashed water at each other with our hands. He was laughing, unrestrained and beautiful. I was too. I think that’s when I knew we would always stick together, whatever may come our way, and we would laugh about it. Always. 

Back by our things, far up beyond the sand, we sat and talked for a bit more. I don’t remember quite why it happened, but he kissed me on the cheek, warm and wet and quick. I laughed. It wasn’t too bad to have a crush on him, was it?  
-Salty, he said, aiming to press another kiss to my cheek. I turned, and he kissed me right on the mouth instead. It was clumsy, and barely there, but already i knew I wanted more. i pushed closer, and he pulled away, eyes wide, cheeks aflame. Oh. I laughed, because I didn’t know what else to do. I laughed and laughed and soon he joined in too. Thank god, the same old feeling was back again, even though my lips were still burning.

Maybe that’s it then, I think. That could very well be his seaside rendezvous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ik it's short but that's the way it is sometimes, the next chapter is long tho (i had to divide it into three, but i'll post them on the same day)  
> chapter title from Great Comet :-)


	4. I Believe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fredie's POV

The rain is cascading down on the tin roof of the barn as the last notes die out. I listen. The drops of water fall like angry rocks. Seaside rendezvous. It’s not subtle, but when have I ever been? 

He was so warm and so bright, his smile wide and sunny. I always wanted to be close to him. There was something about sitting next to him that never failed to make me happy. Even then, shivering like dogs in the cool air before the rain. Our wet hair clung to our backs, making the cold breeze even colder, though we refused to move from our spot on the nearly deserted Bournemouth beach.  
-So you’ve never been to France then? I say.  
-No, have you?  
-No, but we did have a family friend from like Bayeux or something.  
-That’s not any closer to being in France, y’know, he said.  
The corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled.  
-No, I said, but you did get to experience the culture.  
-Yeah? What part of it? he asked.  
-The lovely way they have no boundaries on physical contact whatsoever. You know when they greet each other with air kisses?  
-Yeah?  
-Those aren’t air kisses. Some bast- people even do wet kisses.  
-Oh my god, he laughs, like how wet?  
-Like-   
I kissed his cheek. He tasted of sea and for some reason I wanted to do it again. I leaned forward just as he turned to say something and we kissed. It wasn’t a graceful kiss. Our teeth clashed and noses butted. But it was so nice all the same. His lips were soft and tasted salty. I wanted more so badly in the second it lasted. He pushed forward a little. Did he want this? No! I pulled back. Looked at his flushed cheeks and blown pupils. He couldn’t have wanted that, could he? I couldn’t have either, right? We were both men and- no! So why did I want to kiss him again? He smiled then, his soft wide smile, and then he started laughing and how could either of us hold back then? We laughed and laughed as the rain started falling on our backs, as I ached for him, though he was so close.

Seaside rendezvous.

Suddenly I remember the letter and fish it out of the stacks of notes on top of the piano. I break open the wax seal and it cracks like human bones. I cringe at the sound, but I’m too curious not to read it. The handwriting is familiar. 

Dear Freddie,  
Meet me by the oak tree where fields meet meadows. Saturday night at seven  
All my love,  
Aunt Neema

I read it over and over again. When we moved to England, I thought I would never see her again. And now, my godmother is here, out at the farm even. And I would meet her. Tonight. I don’t know how to feel about that. I love her, of course, but what will she think of me? It’s unnecessary to worry about such things, I know, but I can’t seem to help it. Am I still the boy she knew? Have I changed in her eyes? I tug at my hair. Is it too long? Is it not proper enough? Am I? The rain has stopped, so I gather up my things and head inside. Worrying can wait, I’m making tea.

Okay, worrying can, in fact, not wait. On the way back to the house, I see it. There, where tall grass meets wheat, stands the biggest tree I’ve ever seen.

At a quarter to seven I untangle myself from Brian’s long legs, which are slung over mine on the narrow sofa. John looks at me quizzically as I stretch my arms above my head. We’ve been songwriting for the better part of the day and I’m stiff as a plank.  
-Well, gentlemen, I’m going for a walk, I say.  
-Be back before dinner, will you? Roger calls from the kitchen.  
-I’d rather not, I call back.  
-Hey! I’ve learnt how to boil eggs now, unlike you.  
-You’re making us boiled eggs for dinner? John says, raising an eyebrow.  
I laugh as I head out to the hallway. John follows me out.  
-Want company? he says.   
God I don’t want to say no, but there’s not really a choice.  
-Not right now, but we can take another walk after dinner, maybe?  
-Yeah, he smiles, that’d be nice.

At seven sharp the clouds drift away to reveal a thick crescent moon. The glade bathes in pale purple and the ferns appear to be whispering. If I’m honest, I might just be going mad. Then I see her. She’s walking as slowly as ever, her white gown flowing around her like water, even though there isn’t a breeze. She stops right in front of me, looks up at me fondly with her deep black eyes. Her dark skin glistens like satin in the moonlight as she puts her hand on my shoulder.  
-Oh, my little boy, she says, it’s been so long, hasn’t it?  
I can barely speak, my throat is thick with happiness. I just nod and wrap my arms tight around her. Her small frame is warm and soft, not quite as I remember, now that I’m taller than her, but so familiar. She pulls back to look at me.  
-How you’ve grown! Tell me, how are you doing out here?  
-It’s fantastic! I can play the piano all day, and nobody even bugs me about it. And best of all, I’ve got three of my best friends out here, too.  
My mother tongue feels like honey in my mouth. I never realized how much I missed it, but now all the words fall right where they’re supposed to. She hooks her arm in mine and we start walking down the narrow dirt path.  
-So, tell me about them, what are they like? she says, so I tell her.   
I tell her about Roger and his magnificent voice and fierce love. I tell her about how welcoming he is, to everyone, and how defensive he gets when anyone dare threaten his pack.  
I tell her about Brian. About his soft words, always right where and when you need them. I tell her about his fantastic mind, his way of explaining even the hardest of things in reasonable ways. As the woods grow thicker around us I tell her about his lady.   
And I tell her about John, about his quick head and even quicker hands on the strings. About how he always knows how I’m feeling, and how to make anyone smile. She listens, I can tell. I certainly don’t tell her how head over heels I am for him. 

When we’ve been walking for maybe five minutes, she stops. If the tree we met by was big, this one is enormous. Its roots spread out around us like part of the ground, the whole tree looks to be carved from granite, or rather it looks like the stone has grown out of the ground in swirling tendrils thick as my arm, and weaved, swirled and fused together. The whole glade sings with life around us. Giant leaves move softly in the absent wind while branches thick as men reach towards the sky in great arches hundreds of feet above us and when I reach out to touch the trunk my hand is met with a smooth, cool surface more like stone than bark. Neema looks at me, smiles a little.  
-What do you think? she says.  
-It’s beautiful.  
She hands me two gold coins the size of my palm. I open my mouth to ask, but she silences me with a look. She points towards a hollow in the tree, a chip in the swirling pattern. When I move closer, there is only black. Downward, downward, farther than I can see. None of the puzzle pieces fit together in my head. I’m starting to question if it’s even one and the same puzzle.  
-Go on, she says, put in the coins, please.  
They fall with a clinking sound as they knock against the stone around them. Then silence. I turn to her.  
-Why- ? How… how deep is it?  
-I don’t know, she says, but you have to look now.   
We step back from the tree again and… nothing happens. The birds chirp in the surrounding threes. Leaves rustle. There’s a creek nearby, I can hear the water singing. Then a ripple goes through the forest. Everything quiets except for the beating of my heart, loud like the drums of war in my ears. And then the tree starts cracking open. Splitting along one of the seams, folding strand over strand in on itself. Over and over until where there once was stone there is now an opening. It, like the other hole in the trunk, is pitch black. A chasm.   
-Don’t do that, Neema says, tapping my lower lip with her finger.   
I stop worrying it with my teeth and taste iron. She sighs and taps it again. The taste immediately disappears. I raise my eyebrows at her, but she shakes her head. “Not now” it means. She turns back to the hole in the trunk.  
-Okay, so we are going to jump in there and-  
-I’m sorry? Am I hallucinating? We’re going to what?  
-We’re going to jump. I promise it’s not dangerous.  
She squeezes my hand in hers. Somehow it’s just as calming as when I was a boy. I nod.  
-And then what?  
-You’ll see. Shall I go first?  
-...Alright.  
She takes three brisk steps forward and disappears into the void in a flash of white. When I anxiously go closer to the hole there is not a trace of her.  
-It’s alright! she yells suddenly out of the darkness. I trust her, and so I jump.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> stuff happening? in my story?  
> anyhoW hope y'all are enjoying this so far!!  
> chapter title from the book of mormon (what a weird and great show that is huh)


	5. We're Waiting in THe Wings For You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Freddie's POV

The pitch black around me would be terrifying, if the dread of landing wasn’t worse. Wind whooshes around me like voices, trying to calm my nerves. It almost works. Then the tunnel opens up suddenly into a much brighter space. I can’t see it, can’t think, can’t scream, because oh god there’s the ground and it’s- twenty feet, ten feet, five- I stop falling. The air slows down around me and I drift down softly to the ground like a sheet of paper. My shoes hit the stone below with a soft click and I look up at Neema. She’s smiling at me and I barely have time to wonder before I return her smile, wild and unrestrained. I breathe a sigh of relief and then I look up at the space around us. It’s a cave… I think. The stone billows around us like ocean waves in shades of ebony, glistening like mother of pearl. It’s massive, dotted here and there with strange people. Their clothing varies from sort of punk to edwardian to medieval, and they all seem to be a different genre of otherworldly. A woman with skin a dark shade of prussian blue whoops as she catches another woman, this one with wings like a sparrow, in her arms. A fox the size of a man tips his hat at me and I wave back. They seem friendly, chatting and smiling, greeting each other as they fall from the ceiling. I can’t see the hole I fell through anymore, it’s too high up.  
-Come now, Neema says, tugging me by the sleeve in the general direction of the crowd.   
-Where are we going? I say, still almost out of breath still from the fall.  
-You’ll see, she says again.  
The people around us seem to all be going in one direction, I notice. There is a sort of bend in the chamber we landed in and it’s around this we’re all going. The closer we get to where we’re going to turn, the more people start looking at me. I do my best to smile at all of them, though I’m quite uneasy. Then we turn the corner and I actually have to stop in awe. We’re standing at the shore of some body of water. It glistens like ink, so deep it appears black and shiny, reflecting the lights above. On its edges sharp cliffs rise out of the water like beasts. And there is sky above us again. It’s deep blue, rich like velvet, moving. This is no ordinary night sky, I think, this is something else, because the stars are anything but ordinary. They are too close, too warm, pulsating with life in shades of yellow, orange and red. They hang like lanterns low above the dark water and the boat docked at the shore. That’s where we’re going, I realize. By the boat stands a cloaked figure, talking to three women in elegant victorian dresses. I think he might be some sort of ferryman, because he’s leaning against a huge oar. One of the figures in dress has the horns of a deer. I can hear some of their conversation floating back to where we’re standing. I think we’re waiting our turn.  
-Didn’t you hear? the man with the oar says.  
-Didn’t I hear what, Marcus? the deer-lady asks, curious.  
-The boy’s coming tonight!  
-The human? another woman asks.  
-Half human, Delia, Jeez.  
The third woman elbows the second. She has a lizard’s tail which swings back and forth.  
-Yeah, yeah, whatever. Is it him?  
-Of course! In fact, the ferryman says, I think he’s here now.   
He nods in our general direction.  
-But, he raises a gloved hand, you’ll see him later. Hop on now, people are waiting.  
He beckons to us, and the queue building behind us over with his hand.  
-Evening, ma’am, he says, helping Neema into the boat.  
-Good evening, Marcus. This is my godson, she gestures to me.  
-Yes, I know. Freddie was it?   
He turns to me and I barely have time to register that by god the man has whiskers.   
I nod.  
-Well, it’s lovely meeting you again, Freddie.  
-Again? I’m sorry, dear, I don’t remember when that… could have been, I trail off.  
-Oh, don’t worry about it, you were, what, four?  
I nod again and smile a little nervously.  
-Alright then.  
He helps me on board, too. I sit next to Neema on the railing, because there aren’t any seats, and besides I want to see as well as possible where it is we’re going. More and more people climb onto the boat. I notice people are talking in all sorts of languages around us, and judging by the snippets of english I can pick up, languages from all sorts of times. A tall dark skinned woman with iridescent scales under her eyes clasps the ferryman, Marcus, on the shoulder with a large smile.  
-Oh, thou art a most fascinating character, Marcus. They truly do not jest? Thee hast seen him? I shall have to see for myself. Good day!  
She hops onto the railing like a mountain goat, scanning the crowd with narrowed eyes. Then she spots Neema and me and her face lights up. She bolts right through the crowd to pull Neema up on her feet. She kisses my godmother on both cheeks.  
-Well, the newcomer says, t’s most wondrous to see you both.   
She smiles warmly at us.   
-You saw me this morning, Lou, Neema smiles.  
-Can I not be joyous to see mine own wife?  
“Wife?” I think, shocked but… happy? Relieved? She turns to me.  
-I am most terribly sorry, dear, I have forgotten to introduce myself. My name is Louise, and I am your other godmother.  
-So two women can marry here? I blurt out.  
Not what I was intending to say, and not very polite, but she smiles anyway.  
-Yes, she says.   
I’m trying not to grin like a fool; this is our first meeting for god’s sake! Teeth are a private thing, thank you very much. But still!  
-And two men? I ask before I can stop myself.  
-Naturally, Louise says.  
-Sexuality isn’t viewed the same way here as in the human world, Neema says.  
-The human world?   
Well, it looks like we’ve gotten a clue as to where we are, I think triumphantly, before I remember that answers absolutely nothing. Louise’s head whips around to face Neema.  
-Thou hast not yet told him where we art headed?  
-...No?  
Louise sighs.  
-We art going to the court of the fae. This is the land of fairies.  
Well, considering everything, it sort of makes sense. Either this is a hallucination, or a weird dream or we are actually in some sort of fae world. Considering everything, it still makes no fucking sense, which means my hands are now sweating profusely. None of this makes sense, none of it, but my scattered thoughts produce one last funny thing before I stop thinking in complete fight or flight;  
-Darling, I really can’t tell if that was a gay joke or not, I say.   
And then I panic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> horray! another chapter! "i'll post all three parts the same day" my a s s it's not even the same YEAR, and it's not even a new year's joke. anywho i hope y'all liked this and that you're as happy and healthy as can be. i'll get to posting the next chapter right away, what's a posting schedule when there aren't even weekdays anymore :// also the chapter title is from h*milton


	6. For I Have Crossed The Rubicon, Let The Bridge Be Burned Behind Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Freddie's POV

The other two keep talking, but I can’t hear anything. I need to calm down. The water is cold. I put both my hands in and feel the current. The cold makes sense. I have to think. We are in a boat. Underground. In a cave. This makes sense. My godmother...godmothers are here. There are people. I have hands. Very cold hands. Good, we have the reasonable facts on the table. Now the others. I have two godmothers. One speaks like a knockoff Shakespeare play. I honest to god can’t tell when we started speaking english. The other people have antlers and extra limbs. I have no idea where we are. I got here by jumping a mile or two into a hole in a tree. The stars are moving in the sky. We are among the fae. We are headed to the court. The court?  
-What exactly is the court of the fae? I ask Neema.   
The boat pushes away from the shore without a sound.   
-Well, she says, there is a king and a queen. They are chosen by the people every one hundred years, unless one of them dies. All of the fae gather at the court when there is an important announcement or occasion. Or, she says with a look in my direction, when someone is to be sworn into the court.  
-And why are we going there?  
-Thou art to be sworn in, Louise says, smiling.  
-But I’m not a fairy, I say, then laugh suddenly.  
-What? Neema inquires, I haven’t been with humans since you were a boy. Is that a joke?  
-Well, uh, fairy is slang for gay, which I think I might be, anyways go on.  
Why the everloving fuck did I say that? I suppose I’m just giving myself more reasons to panic at this point. Way to go!  
-Why am I going to be sworn in if I’m not a fairy?  
My godmothers look at each other like they’re deciding whether to tell me something or not. Louise nods and turns to me.  
-Well, as a matter of fact, that is untrue.   
I blink at her. There’s no need to act surprised, because it’s not an act. I am so, so deeply confused.  
-Before thee were born, thy mother made a pact with the fae. To keepeth thee safe, she did ingest the blood of a fairy. Not a great quantity, but enough. This madeth sure thee were born without complication and kept from harm as a babe, but it also madeth thee half fairy. Thee hast the powers of the fae, barely diluted by thy human blood. Thy powers have lain dormant for most of thy life, but anon we believeth thee hast reached maturity, and art eft to be sworn in and made familiar with thy powers.  
I nod.  
-And what about Kash?  
-Kashmira is also in part affected, but her powers are lesser than yours as her portion wast what wast hath left.  
The rest of the journey passes in silence. The boat glides smoothly along the same dark river. I still have no clue what’s going on, but now I can focus on a smaller piece of the picture. What sort of powers could she be talking about? What sort of powers did fairies even have? The stars that I don’t think are actually stars seem to be laughing among themselves, basking in each other’s light. How would I even be sworn in? For all I know it could be some sort of blood ritual or worse. Hell, this could still very well be a dream. The water is clear and smooth when I turn my hand around in the waves. It feels almost too soft, like oil.

The boat docks abruptly and the crowd starts moving into what appears to be a forest. As we get closer, I realize it’s not trees at all. It’s a mass of roots, hundreds of thousands of thick roots woven together with vines and moss and flowers. We march like ants into hole in the side of the nest. I’ve sort of given up questioning anything by now, but I’m still amazed as the root forest opens up into an enormous room made from the same plants. Well, room isn’t the word; It’s like a cathedral in size. The roots visible from the outside form large entryways on at least eight points in the walls and by the far wall stand two empty thrones. One is made from exquisite gems woven through with ebony, carved into fine strands which weave through the crystals, the other is made from ivory, small flowers growing from and around the throne. There are people everywhere, at least a thousand. but the room isn’t even halfway full. 

In the blink of an eye everyone quiets as two figures appear on the thrones. A woman, I think, with broad shoulders and the magnificent antlers of an elk, decorated with gold and pearls. She’s dressed in blue silk glowing with the same stars which hung above the river. The... man? Person? sitting on her left is her opposite, though they seem to be two sides of the same coin, somehow. His arms are long and elegant in their plum coloured velvet jacket, and he’s wearing midnight black trousers. He is elegantly straight backed, like a ballet dancer, nimble hands curved around the armrests of the throne. He seems almost human until he opens his eyes; his skin is covered from head to toe in them. The queen holds up her hand and everyone drops to sit on the floor.  
-Now, she says, I know we have all been waiting for this. Almost thirty years ago, a woman made a pact with one of our finest magicians, Neema of the House of Arcturus. She asked for the protection of her unborn child, and our representative agreed to help her. Today, that child is a man, and he shall, as the first of his kind, be sworn into the court along with five others.   
The crowd cheers for a brief, deafening moment, and then sinks back into quietude.  
The king lists off everyone who is to be sworn in in order of rank. I go last, which is a relief, and follow the others to stand before the king and queen. They look us over curiously before handing us each a trinket of some sort. Again I go last and see the others clasp their things to their chests before me, so I do the same. The trinket feels warm in my hand, like it’s been laying in the sun. I can’t tell what it is from touch alone, and I can’t look at it during the ceremony. I’ll look at it later, I decide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another short one, as promised to you litteral months ago lmao. so what do you guys think so far? what's the trinket? what are those powers we've heard so little about and how will our boy use them?  
> chapter title from 1776, which is a heccin Bangin' musical, check it out if ya want :)


	7. Look Around, Look Around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger's POV (bet you weren't expecting that huh!)

-No, Rog, a quarter of an hour isn’t reason to worry, Brian sighs.  
-Yes, but what if it is? I snap.  
John thoroughly ignores us with a crossword and his, what, fifth cup of tea for the day? His hair hangs like a curtain around the newspaper, obscuring his face. Something anxious twists in my stomach and I stand up from the table.  
-I’ll go look for him, I say, grabbing my jacket and heading out.

Now where would I go if I was Freddie? I squint out over the fields and sort of wish I’d brought my glasses. The night air is warm and sweet and the gentle wind whispers in the trees. Something tells me to walk towards the woods at the edge of the fields and there he is, walking towards me out of the glade.   
-Freddie! I call out.  
He looks up at me with a tired smile and as soon as he is next to me he puts his head on my shoulder.  
-You alright, mate?  
-Mm, just a bit tired. What time is it?  
-Like seven twenty I think.  
-Weird. It feels like midnight, he says, and then promptly passes out.

I have to knock three times before anyone opens the door. It’s Brian, and he barely gets the door open before I start chastising him.  
-Look, Bri, I told you something could have-  
-Just come in, Rog, he says, though worry is evident in the way his hands are twitching to touch Freddie, to hold him. I get in and close the door with my foot behind me.  
-Should we start eating or is- oh my god.  
John rushed forward, almost elbowing Brian to the side.  
-Oh god, is he okay? Is he hurt? What happened? What do we-  
-He’s alright, John, I say. His usually calm grey green eyes are wide with fear, and he’s looking Freddie over for any signs of injury almost frantically. Together the three of us carry our friend upstairs and to bed. He seems to be sleeping peacefully, but John insists on sitting by his side, petting his hair with shaking hands and whispering softly. I think it’s just as much for him as it is for Freddie.  
-I don’t understand, Brian says, what happened?  
-I told you, I don’t know, he just passed out. It was like he’d been awake for at least ten more hours than he had, it was weird.  
-We’ll have to ask him tomorrow, he says.   
-Yeah. Come on, John, let’s get some dinner, yeah?  
-Okay, he says, standing up.  
I pull him into a hug and he holds me close. He’s shaking like a leaf in my arms.

Dinner is a quick and quiet affair, then John excuses himself to go to bed. Brian and I clear the table and sit down in the living room. He looks uneasy, so I kiss him.  
-Hey, what’s up?  
His hand takes mine. He’s so gentle with me, like I might break if he holds my hand too hard.  
-I’m just worried about Freddie. What do you think happened?  
-Dunno. Can I make supernatural speculations?  
-Go ahead, he says.  
-If it’s possible, I think he was somewhere time works differently.  
-What?  
-You know like in your song. It was like more time had passed for him than for us.  
-...So what you’re suggesting is…?  
-Dunno, could be anything, or he could have just tired himself out screaming or whatever. We’ll have to ask him tomorrow.  
-Suppose we will, yeah.  
I kiss him again. It’s good like this. My head against his chest, his arms around me. His heart beats against my cheek and his warmth makes me so happily drowsy. I think I love him. No, I know I do, but I’m not sure what this is to him. He does love me, in some sort of way, I know, but I can’t tell which. It’s good like this, but I want it to last.   
-Bri?  
-Yeah?  
Hazel eyes smile down at me and calm fills my bones.  
-I love you.  
-I love you too, Rog. So, so much.  
-Brian, is this a temporary thing? Like, do you think we’ll grow old together or… not?  
-Roger, I want to marry you.  
His beautiful hazel eyes are so honest. I trust him, whatever he says. He wouldn’t lie to me and I know it.  
-That’s illegal, I say, smiling.  
-Who cares! Brian laughs.  
-I don’t.  
-Me neither.  
I sink back into his arms with a contented sigh. He kisses the top of my head. All is well now. If we can get this album off the ground and not end up penniless and disgraced it’ll all be fine, I think. We’ll all be fine. God, I hope Freddie is alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, well, well, it seems I've actually posted another chapter for once lmao. please tell me what you think so far!! constructive critcism is always welcome :)  
> (the title is from Hamilton again, because that's just how it be sometimes)


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